


Variation on a Theme

by dragon_temeraire



Series: Car Sex [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bottom Derek Hale, Bottom Derek Hale/Top Stiles Stilinski, Car Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mechanic Derek Hale, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-High School, Versatile Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 18:51:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15346305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_temeraire/pseuds/dragon_temeraire
Summary: Every mark and smudge reminds him of how hot it’d been, to have Stiles spread out across his hood like that, eager for Derek to fuck him and loving every moment of it.





	Variation on a Theme

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel to That Sexy Mechanic Look, this time with bottom Derek!

 

Derek had ended up riding back to his apartment with Stiles—who’d demanded a post-coital make out session in the jeep, so it wouldn’t feel ‘left out’—but after a few kisses they’d both decided they’d be more comfortable on a bed. So Stiles had driven them back, with Derek dozing sleepily in the passenger seat.

And that’s no big deal, because Derek lives close to the auto shop. The next morning he lets Stiles sleep in, and just walks the few blocks there. Which means he has plenty of time to think about _exactly_ what they’d done last night, but somehow he’s still shocked by the state of his car.

Clearly visible on the shining finish of the hood is the imprint of Stiles’ ass, along with flecks of come that practically _glow_ under the bright lights, and smeared handprints all across the paint. There’s one in the middle of the windshield as well, and Derek scowls, because he’s pretty sure Stiles did that on purpose.

The Camaro looks _debauched_ , but instead of being mad about it, Derek just finds himself getting turned on instead.

Every mark and smudge reminds him of how hot it’d been, to have Stiles spread out across his hood like that, eager for Derek to fuck him, and loving every moment of it.

Fuck, he’d love to do that _again_.

He carefully adjusts himself, wondering if he has time to jerk off before everyone else arrives. But when he glances at the clock, he winces.

He doesn’t even have time to wipe the Camaro down, not when the other mechanics will be showing up in the next few minutes.

 _Shit_.

Derek does _not_ want them to see this. He pops the trunk and grabs the cloth cover out, hurriedly pulling the material over the front of the car first, willing his erection to go down as he does.

By the time his first employee walks in, Derek has everything under control. Mostly.

“Hey, boss,” Tony says, eyes going to the Camaro right away. “Something wrong with your car?”

Derek fights down a blush. “No, it’s fine. I’m…planning to wax it after work, and I don’t want it to get dusty in the meantime,” he manages to get out without fumbling it too much. He really should have come up with an excuse beforehand.

Tony nods, smiling. “You sure do take good care of that car,” he says brightly, before turning and heading for his work station.

Derek chokes on nothing, feels the flush creeping up his face, but thankfully there’s no one nearby to see it. After a furtive look around, he bolts to the breakroom for a cold glass of water.

Then he texts Stiles: _be here after closing time_.

Stiles, being who he is, immediately wants to know why.

 _We have something we need to do_ , is all Derek will give in answer.

It’s a pretty light day, with only a few customers coming in, and it leaves Derek with way too much time to anticipate what’s coming.

 

*

 

Derek lets everyone go home a little early, and they’re long gone by the time Stiles shows up. Derek has him back the jeep into the bay next to the Camaro, grinning a little as he rolls the door back down.

“Hey,” Stiles says, hopping out and giving Derek a kiss. “What’s up?”

Derek doesn’t answer, just walks over and flicks the cover off the front of the Camaro.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Stiles says, lightly touching the edge of his ass-print. “We made quite a mess.”

“We? It was mostly _you_ ,” Derek smirks. “And now we’re gonna clean it up.” He hands Stiles a spray bottle of detailer and a microfiber cloth, keeping the container of wax for himself.

“Are we making it nice so we can ruin it again?” Stiles asks hopefully.

“Nope,” Derek says smugly, and waits until Stiles has started scrubbing before he says, “But when we’re done, you can fuck me in the back of the jeep.”

Stiles freezes, only half his ass-print visible under his stationary rag, before he jerkily starts up again. “Yeah, that’s,” he says, licking his lips. “That’s a good deal.”

Stiles had only mentioned it once, during a half-asleep conversation late at night, where the topic had drifted to what they’d always wanted to do, sexually speaking. And Stiles had mumbled that he’d always dreamed of opening the back of the jeep, laying down some blankets, and fucking someone there.

Derek hadn’t forgotten, though he thinks maybe Stiles hadn’t remembered saying it.

When he looks over, Stiles has redoubled his efforts, his expression intent. He groans, though, when Derek begins to carefully wax the newly-clean area.

“This is too much of a turn-on,” he grumbles, eyes on the flexing muscle of Derek’s arm. “All I can think about is the awesome sex we had yesterday. And the awesome sex we’ll be having later today. I’m too distracted to do quality work!”

“It doesn’t have to be a masterpiece, it just has to be presentable to the general public. But nice try,” he says, smirking.

“You could at least put on a real shirt,” Stiles says, eyeing Derek for a long moment before he continues to scrub white flecks off the paint.

“I thought you liked my tank tops,” Derek says with mock innocence. “In fact, I remember how much you like them _very clearly_.”

Stiles scowls, and pointedly adjusts his prominent erection. “Cruel and unusual,” he mutters, but he keeps working.

He starts to really get antsy, though, when his job is done but Derek is still buffing.

Derek can only tolerate being “encouraged” for so long, so he eventually says, “Why don’t you get the jeep set up?” and Stiles mercifully stops rutting against his hip. “There’s clean towels in the storage room, and several blankets on the couch in my office.”

Stiles presses a kiss to his neck, and then he’s gone. Derek hears the creak of the back hatch opening up and grins a little, feeling eager himself. They’re not in the middle of nowhere, like Stiles had fantasized, but Derek figures this is a lot safer. They’re less likely to be interrupted, too.

He steps back to admire their work: there’s no longer any evidence of someone getting fucked on this hood. It’s as good as new. But he frowns when he spots the handprint still visible on the windshield.

Well, that’s a problem for later.

Right now, Derek has something better in mind.

He pulls the cover back down just as Stiles says, “It’s ready. I have everything we need except the lube.”

“Don’t worry, I got it,” Derek says, patting his pocket. He’s had all day to plan for this, so he’d made sure they’d have everything they need.

He strips his shirt off on the short walk to the jeep, pops the button on his jeans to relieve some of the pressure, then pauses to admire the nest of towels and blankets Stiles has created in the back.

Stiles is leaning against the tailgate, already mostly undressed, and Derek pulls him into a quick kiss before he squirms out of the rest of his clothes. He takes the lube out of his pocket before he gets his pants all the way off, grinning at how excitedly Stiles takes it.

Once he’s naked, Derek crawls into the back and lays down on his stomach, finding it fairly comfortable, considering. His feet extend past the tailgate, and he probably looks ridiculous, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Oh, man,” Stiles breathes, his hand skimming the back of Derek’s thigh. “This is like, a _life dream_ right here.”

Derek lifts himself enough to look over his shoulder, and sees Stiles pushing down his boxers, the only thing he’s still wearing. He looks gratifyingly eager, and it makes Derek smile.

He shifts a little, rubbing his cock on the soft blanket beneath him, so ready for this that he’s _aching_ with need. He desperately needs Stiles to fuck him.

Stiles climbs in next to him, pressed up tight against Derek’s side before he carefully turns around and begins to massage Derek’s ass. Derek makes an involuntary moan, because that’s his weak spot, and goes lax with pleasure.

Stiles likes to tease him about it, but Derek maintains that butt massages are the best thing ever. And Stiles always jokes that Derek only enjoys it so much because he has a lot of butt to work with.

Stiles digs the heels of his hands in, thumbs pressing down between Derek’s cheeks as he does, skimming teasingly across his hole, and Derek shivers. One hand keeps kneading his ass while the other disappears, only to return hot and slick, fingers slipping inside Derek easily.

Derek closes his eyes and focuses on the contact, trying to stay relaxed—the sooner he’s prepped, the sooner he gets fucked.

He’d turned off the auto shop’s main lights before he’d gotten in the jeep, leaving them with only the auxiliary lighting, and he’s glad he did. It’s hard to feel intimate under a bank of bright fluorescents, and having only dim light somehow makes the back of the jeep feel more cozy, like they’re doubly protected from the world.      

Stiles has obviously determined that he’s prepped enough, because his fingers withdraw as he swings a leg over and settles down on top of Derek. His weight is strangely pleasant and arousing—most of the time it’s Stiles who wants to be fucked, so Derek rarely gets to feel this.

It’s thrilling, especially when Stiles rocks his hips, sending a swoop of anticipation through Derek’s stomach as his cock slides between his cheeks.

Stiles kisses and bites at Derek’s shoulders and neck as he lifts up a little, lining up with Derek’s entrance.

Derek hears himself make an embarrassingly pleased noise, but that doesn’t matter, because Stiles is sliding inside and it feels _amazing_.

Stiles settles down on top of him again, a warm and heavy weight along his back, pushing his cock in just that little bit deeper. Then he sort of _ripples_ , a wave of motion that ends with him tucking his hips forward, grinding against Derek’s ass.

He keeps going, moving sinuously against Derek, hands braced against Derek’s sides, teeth a sharp prickle against Derek’s shoulder. He seems to be in complete control, while Derek can feel himself start to lose his.

He pants, squirms, tries to move with it, because it’s good, _so good_ , but it’s just not _enough_.

Stiles stills then, briefly, and Derek can feel himself trembling with want. When Stiles starts up again, only his hips move. They flex away and then plunge back in, a slow, regular rhythm that is both a horrible tease and a reminder of how much Derek loves Stiles’ dick.

Just when Derek is starting to believe that he’s being fucked by a particularly lifelike robot, Stiles pushes in deep and stops there. He sits up, hands bearing down on Derek’s lower back, then lightly bounces on Derek’s ass—Derek can’t really fault him for that, he has a very bouncy butt—before getting to business.

Stiles fucks into him hard and fast, and Derek can’t resist moaning out, “Finally doing it like you mean it.”

Stiles grunts in agreement, thrusting in at just the right angle, and Derek finds himself rutting against the blankets, seeking any friction he can get. He feels overheated, his body tingling, and there’s a pressure at the base of his cock just aching to be released.

“Stiles, I’m close,” he grits out, partly encouragement and partly a warning—he tends to have intense orgasms, and he’s a little afraid he’ll buck Stiles off.

“Me too,” Stiles gasps out, hands tightening around Derek’s waist.

The blankets have bunched up under Derek from all the motion, and it gives him just enough to thrust against, to thrust _into_. He can’t move much, not with Stiles’ weight on him, but he manages to circle his hips as Stiles fucks into him, hitting _just the right spot_ , and that’s it—he’s coming, back arching and hips shoving forward as his orgasm rushes through him.

Stiles manages to ride it out, and he keeps on going, wringing little pulses of pleasure out of Derek with every thrust. But he’s getting erratic, so Derek grins as he presses his thighs together and then _clenches_ around Stiles.

“Fuck, _fuck_ , Derek,” Stiles groans, hips moving in jerky little spasms as he comes. He lets out a low, pleased sound as he finishes with a few languid thrusts, then collapses down on top of Derek.

“Oof,” Derek says, mostly for show.

In answer, Stiles nuzzles the back of his neck, presses a kiss there. It feels good, and Derek tries not to doze off. This would be a very awkward place for his employees to find him in the morning.

“You know what I’m thinking?” Stiles says suddenly, after a long, drawn-out silence.

Derek rouses himself a little, blinking sleepily. “That we definitely need to take these blankets home and wash them?”

“Yeah, it’d be weird if we didn’t,” Stiles says, sounding amused. “But I was going to say, I think it’d be a good idea if I visited you at work more often.”

Derek smiles then, tilts his head so he can catch Stiles’ lips with his own. “Yeah,” he says, starting to laugh. “It’d be weird if you didn’t.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come by and prompt me/talk to me [ on tumblr](http://dragon-temeraire.tumblr.com/).


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